


don't you ever grow up (it could stay this simple)

by MotherKarizma



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Oneshot, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Platonic Cuddling, Precious Peter Parker, Sad Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Lives, me? projecting my insomnia? never
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22920730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherKarizma/pseuds/MotherKarizma
Summary: If Tony was being honest with himself, he was more than a little upset that Peter had suddenly returned from his five-year dust nap with nary a 'Mister Stark' to be heard.Now, it was alwaysTony. Tony,do you need any help in the lab?Tony,can you pass me that screwdriver? Is your arm bothering you,Tony?He knew this was normal. He knew this was to be expected. He knew this was healthy, that it harbored no implication other than that Peter was growing up.But that didn’t mean he had to like it.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 502





	don't you ever grow up (it could stay this simple)

**Author's Note:**

> fic title borrowed from taylor swift's 'never grow up'
> 
> enjoy!

If Tony was being honest with himself, he was more than a little upset that Peter had suddenly returned from his five-year dust nap with nary a 'Mister Stark' to be heard.

Before, back when things between them had been so simple (though he had only come to appreciate those times as such in hindsight), he’d begged and begged and _begged_ the kid to forgo the formalities, to drop the ‘Mister’ and just call him Stark, or Tony, or, for the love of God, _anything_ but ‘sir.’

Peter never had. He’d insisted that this was the correct way to address one’s elders, that May would have his hide if she ever caught wind of him calling his mentor by his first name. He’d also pointedly ignored the question when asked if he could recall the last time he’d referred to May as ‘ma’am,’ leading Tony to believe it was less of a raised-this-way thing and more of a Peter Parker thing.

Now, it was always _Tony._

 _Tony,_ do you need any help in the lab? _Tony,_ can you pass me that screwdriver? Is your arm bothering you, _Tony?_

For all the griping he’d done in the past – griping that he now regretted immensely – Tony hated this. He really, truly did. The distinct lack of ‘Mister Stark’ made it so much harder to fossilize his mental image of Peter as a child in need of guidance. The kid seemed more like an adult now, an equal, than he ever had – and maybe that was the problem.

Peter was approaching eighteen, and, frankly, Tony was the farthest thing from ready. Soon, Peter would be too old to have someone looking over Spider-Man’s shoulder, ensuring he was being safe and responsible. Soon, Peter wouldn’t need anyone to make him tea when he was sick or help him with his homework or insist he actually sleep and eat every once in a while.

Soon, Peter wouldn’t need him anymore.

And that – _that_ was the crux of it.

Before, in the era of simplicity, Peter had always needed Mister Stark. Now, Peter might enjoy being around Tony – but he didn’t _need_ Tony. Not nearly as often, at least, and not in the same ways he used to.

He knew this was normal. He knew this was to be expected. He knew this was healthy, that it harbored no implication other than that Peter was growing up.

But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Tony was even, in his own begrudging way, getting used to it, expecting a _Mister Stark_ less and less every single time the kid opened his mouth.

And, of course, it was always just when he was starting to get comfortable with his new normal that the universe threw him a curveball.

* * *

After a long, grueling hour of trying to convince Morgan to get in her bed and actually stay there for once, Tony was more than ready to crawl under the covers himself. He was going through the living room and kitchen, turning off lights and unplugging appliances, when Peter’s voice, small and uncertain, found him.

“Mister Stark?”

Tony paused, hand hovering over the switch on the lamp that now singlehandedly lit the living room.

“Pete?” He said, hushed. “I thought you were in bed already.”

In the dim glow, he squinted. Peter stood on the second to last step of the staircase. His hair was ruffled from sleep and his favorite pair of too-long pajama pants pooled at his ankles.

Even from the distance, even with so little visibility, Tony could see the kid trembling.

But of course he could – even the most mundane of details never escaped him when it came to Peter and Morgan. He knew his kids like the back of his hand.

Which was exactly how he knew, in a heartbeat and without a shadow of a doubt, that something was wrong.

“Mister Stark,” Peter croaked again. He sounded about two seconds away from bursting into tears.

“Hey.” Tony approached, trying to push down his own shock at the two consecutive _Mister Stark_ ’s. Up close, it was plain to see that something was categorically not right. Peter’s eyes were red, brow furrowed, and he shook from head to toe. “Hey, kid. I’m right here. What’s going on?”

Peter stared at him for a long moment, lips pursed, and rocked on his heels, as if trying to make up his mind.

“Just – you know,” he whispered finally, lowering his gaze to his feet. “Bad dream. I just…needed to see you. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

The _needed to see you_ hit him square in the chest, almost as hard as _Mister Stark_ (though not quite). He didn’t have to ask why Peter felt the need to see him live and in the flesh after a bad dream. He knew exactly why. Pepper had frequent nightmares of Tony’s near-death snap, too. They all did.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Another sway of the kid’s weight, the finicky step creaking beneath him; another tight-lipped moment of hesitation. Tony expected a dismissive, _I’m fine, sorry to bother you,_ or a _no, I’m okay, thanks,_ a denial of obvious not-okayness in typical Parker fashion.

Instead, Peter’s face screwed up, and he began to cry.

Tony’s heart leapt. He stepped forward and placed a firm hand on the kid’s shoulder – the flesh hand, not the prosthetic one, lest the feeling of cold, steel fingers worsen matters.

“ _Hey,_ hey. _Shhh._ Come here, Pete. It’s okay. Come here.”

Peter accepted the offer immediately, laying his head on Tony’s shoulder and gripping the back of his shirt. He said through staccato breaths, “’M sorry. This is so stupid, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not stupid.” Tony wrapped his arms around Peter and squeezed tight. “It’s okay. It happens. I get it.”

“Mister Stark,” Peter said for a third time, but choked at the end, whatever else he’d wanted to say caught in his throat.

“I know,” Tony said, because he _did_. “I know. Hey – come sit down, alright? Deep breaths. Come sit with me.”

The hesitance returned, even as Peter’s inhales hitched. He scrubbed the still-flowing streams of tears from his face. “N-no, it’s – it’s fine, I’m okay–“

“That wasn’t a question.” Tony pulled away and gripped Peter’s elbow, guiding him over to the couch. “Come on.”

The kid dragged his feet, still looking half-asleep, blinking and sniffling a few times as Tony settled and pulled him to lean against his chest.

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled once he was slightly more composed. “You were probably going to bed, I wasn’t trying to make you–“

“Stop that,” Tony said into his hair. “You’re not _making_ me do anything. If I didn’t want to stay up with you, I wouldn’t.”

But Peter was nothing if not stubborn. “You need to sleep. You’re still recovering.”

Tony closed his eyes, heaved an exasperated sigh that was only half in jest, and gently pushed the kid’s head back against his shoulder. Peter went willingly. “Who said I’m not gonna sleep?”

“Mister Stark–“

The fourth time. Vulnerability, it seemed, was the key. Not that Tony particularly wanted to make a habit of seeing Peter upset – but he’d be lying if he said hearing that name again didn’t turn something inside of him utterly soft and fond.

“Can’t hear you,” Tony said. “I’m asleep.”

He felt more than saw a faint, bittersweet smile turning the corners of Peter’s mouth. The kid must have realized he wasn’t going to be getting out of their impromptu, semi-forced snuggle anytime soon, because his only response was a slurred, sleepy whisper of, “’Night, Mister Stark.”

Five times. Tony forced back a slight burning behind his own closed eyelids and pressed a kiss to the crown of Peter’s mussed-haired head.

Sure, he didn’t want to make a habit of Peter feeling sad and vulnerable, didn’t want to fight against the natural current of his transition into young adulthood. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy an unexpected perk or two when these moments came along all on their own.

Tony waited until Peter’s breathing evened out, until the kid went peaceful and lax against him, before he allowed the lull of sleep to take him, too.

“’Night, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr - you can find me there under the same username!
> 
> thanks for reading!


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